


The Adventure of the Stolen Fish

by milktea_matin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst and Humor, BAMF John, Case Fic, Confused Sherlock, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Humor, John-centric, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre Reichenbach, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milktea_matin/pseuds/milktea_matin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a lot on his mind lately, namely who might be John’s mystery dinner date. His obsession with discovering the identity of John’s love interest puts strain on Sherlock and John’s relationship when solving a murder mystery at the local aquarium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of the Stolen Fish

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Sherlock fic I've ever attempted, so if you happen to enjoy it I'd be happy to hear about it! Names of characters outside of those normally appearing in the show were made up for the purpose of this fic. Also, this fic revolves around fish. I've probably written the word "fish" more times than "Sherlock". You can keep track if you'd like.  
> (Partial version posted on my livejournal, oujo_to_endou, now relocated)

From where John Watson was sitting lounged comfortably next to the fireplace with the morning paper in hand, he could see the image of a drenched, grey London world outside, framed by the window on the far wall. The dreary sense of solitude was heightened by the sound of Sherlock Holmes’ newest composition on the violin; a flowing, melancholy tune with neither a beginning or, seemingly, an end. Beautiful as it was, John was growing slightly irritated.

“Trying case, is it then?” asked John, clearing his throat, “You can always take a break.” He glanced over at Sherlock to see that he was lying on the sofa in his favorite blue dressing robe, absent-mindedly staring at the wall in front of him without ceasing to deliver his soul across the strings of the violin. John gave an annoyed sigh and, folding his half-read paper, slapped it down onto the old hardwood coffee table. “Sherlock!” he yelled. A shrieking, ghastly noise sounded from the violin as Sherlock was shaken from his thoughts, cutting his solo short. He set the violin down next to him and gave a heavy sigh which appeared to sink him further down into the sofa. He pressed the tips of his fingers together, bringing them to his lips.

           “I’m thinking, John. The violin helps me think! And I know what you’re going to say,” said Sherlock quickly, “Would you like me to repeat my answer for your benefit?” His companion simply glared at him.

            “No, Sherlock,” answered John, working to maintain control over his temper, “I’d like you to agree with me, if not because I’m your friend then because I’m a certified doctor. Five days is too long to go without eating!”

            “Oh, dull…” breathed Sherlock, closing his eyes.

            “It’s not dull! Food will give you the necessary sustenance to continue working! You didn’t even touch the fish I cooked last night! By not eating you’re slowly weakening your deduction skills!” At this comment, Sherlock suddenly grabbed his violin, stood up, and sawed a chaotic melody on it until John finally got up and snatched it away from him. “Not to mention, it makes you horribly disagreeable!” added John, looking up at his sour-faced friend.

            “My deduction skills are as sharp as ever!” retorted Sherlock, “For example, I know that you’re finally going on date you’ve been planning as you’ve opened that bottle of Hugh Parsons cologne I gave you _last Christmas_ and applied it liberally no less than twice! As your last dates have gone exceedingly poorly and only one woman has returned your e-mail, which I took the liberty of deleting by the way, as she was not worth your time, you’ve entered at least 16 queries into google for dating advice only this morning! By your rapid typing speed you seem rather desperate not to mess this one up! You’ve changed your shirt three times for no apparent reason besides indecision and you’ve been sighing constantly, glancing at your watch nearly every half hour, and!”

            “Sherlock!” cried John, “Do you really need to work out the details of my love life…try to make a case out of it!? Nevermind…what I’m saying is that you’re going to eat and I’m going to force you if it comes to it!” Sherlock furrowed his brow, looking perplexed.

            “You’re not upset that I deleted the e-mail?”

            “No, Sherlock!” said John angrily, “Now would you focus your attention on this whole fish business instead of my personal difficulties!?” John, respecting the instrument that Sherlock cared for deeply, set it down carefully on the sofa as Sherlock continued to talk.

            “You overcooked it, John. I could tell just by looking at it that you cooked into oblivion. Looked drier than the Sahara,” John threw his hands up in irritation.

 “Not last night’s dinner, Sherlock. The case! You know, the one you took on this morning!?” John stared at his flatmate, who looked back at him curiously.

            “Oh yes, the case,” said Sherlock, strangely slow in his response, “Speaking of which, Lestrade has been in touch. We need to head out to the aquarium.”

            “The aquarium?” echoed John. Sherlock suddenly snapped into action and spoke with purposeful clarity.

            “I’ll explain later. Now, if you’ve decided on that shirt for your…date this evening then we should be off just as soon as I get dressed,” explained Sherlock. He said “date” with a less than subtle distaste, as if the word itself was bitter and left an unpleasant sensation in his mouth. John started to walk off towards where his jacket had been placed as Sherlock’s eyes followed his actions.

            “But the blue shirt suits you better,” added Sherlock bluntly. John turned around to face him.

            “Remember what I said just a moment ago? Staying out of my dating life?” he responded.

            “Right…” answered Sherlock, looking slightly hurt by the brusque comment. John stalked off up the stairs, leaving his flatmate standing in the middle of the living room with a frown on his face.  

 

Detective Inspector Lestrade, standing with his hands tucked into the grey pockets of his suit, met them when they arrived at the entrance to the aquarium. A bustle of activity was taking place around them, indicating that some recent atrocity had occurred. Donovan looked up only briefly to crinkle her nose at them and make her displeasure at their arrival known. John was curiously glancing around him, noticing the almost innocent decorations of the aquarium: the smiling crab and dolphin painted above the entrance and the mass of plush sea animals mounded on top of each other in the gift shop display. It’s contrast with their grim investigation was unsettling. He bumped into Sherlock when the latter paused in front of the grey-haired inspector.

            “Glad you could make it, Sherlock,” said Lestrade, “Should I catch you up on the situation?” Sherlock looked around him only briefly.

            “There’s a victim, clearly. Where is she, swimming with the fishes?” asked Sherlock quickly. Lestrade frowned at this comment.

            “As clever as ever, I see. But it’s a he not a she,” answered Lestrade, “Albert Cunningham, assistant in Percy Norton’s fishing business.” Sherlock’s eyes widened briefly, showing a flash of interest in his words.

            “Why here?” asked John, looking past Lestrade at the massive aquarium tanks behind him.

            “We’ve been looking into that, naturally,” answered Lestrade.

            “And you’ve come up empty-handed,” observed Sherlock, “In over your head again, detective inspector? Show us the body!” Lestrade made a face.

            “As much as it pains me to call on you…come this way.” John and Sherlock walked briskly side by side, following a few paces behind Lestrade. His attention preoccupied with the massive fish tanks to either side of them, John heard Lestrade’s further explanation of the case only as background noise. He began to slow his pace until he stopped completely.

            “Sherlock, look at this,”

            “Hm?” he said, turning around. Lestrade stopped as well. The three of them stood peering at an orange-colored fish that was drifting along sideways, making but a vain attempt to keep itself upright. It drifted past their eyes slowly.

            “It’s dying,” observed John.  

            “An orange roughy,” said Sherlock, “Native to Australian waters.” John snorted.

            “Didn’t know you were a fish expert as well,” he said.

            “I don’t have to be, it’s all on the placard,” explained Sherlock, gesturing to it vaguely, “This does complicate our little conundrum, however.”

            “How!?” blurted out Lestrade, “A dying fish is suddenly an important factor in our investigation!?” Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave an annoyed sigh.

            “I do believe it will be instrumental in our case,” remarked Sherlock, his eyes darting around.

            “You’ve got an idea?” asked Lestrade.

            “Of course,” he answered, while observing the glass of the tank, “No proper aquarium lets its fish die and not take notice…How did Mr. Cunningham die?” Sherlock took out a magnifying glass to aid him.

            “Bullet wound to the chest,” answered Lestrade, watching Sherlock with curiosity and wondering what he might be doing.

            “See these fingerprints, here, someone was looking into the tank like so,” said Sherlock, demonstrating. He placed both hands almost flat against the glass and looked in. “Small, thin fingers, pressed against the glass. The person who stood here was clearly fascinated by something they could observe from this spot.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, looking into the tank. He then took a step back with a knowing look upon his face. “There’s a small break in the impression left by the left ring finger, thus leading me to speculate that whoever was standing here was wearing a wedding ring. How often are the outside of these tanks cleaned?”

            “Every evening, usually,”

            “The outside of these tanks were just cleaned before whoever was standing here pressed their fingers to the glass, as there are no other prints around it,” said Sherlock, “I’ll need a list of all the employees on duty last evening and any personal information you can dig up. It was excellent of you to point out the fish to me, John. Now Lestrade, show me the body,” said Sherlock hastily, pushing past him.

            “I fail to see how that could be important,” said Lestrade, but consented to gathering information for him. The three of them arrived at the site of the murder and after pulling on a pair of gloves, Sherlock knelt down to thoroughly inspect the body. Lestrade stood there for a few moments watching Sherlock dive into his role and begin the investigative work that none of his own team could accomplish.

            “I’ll leave you to it then,” said Lestrade, hesitantly looking for an escape.

            “Thank you, now do go away,” said Sherlock brusquely, waving him off while keeping his eyes glued to the victim’s body. Lestrade shrugged his shoulders and left willingly after warning them that they had but five minutes to inspect on their own.

            “I’ll only need two,” said Sherlock as Lestrade was closing the door behind them. Sherlock set about his work with a slight laugh, his eyes aglow with fascination. After kneeling down to inspect the body he worked his way about the room, taking careful inspection of the blue, geometric pattern carpet that covered the floor.

            “I doubt this case will take long, John,” said Sherlock, returning back to his inspection of the victim.

            “Good,” remarked John, “Then you’ll eat soon, will you?” Sherlock was down on his hands and knees.

            “Gun wound to the chest, shot from the left side at close range,” observed Sherlock, ignoring him. “The victim was approached by someone he knew…someone he trusted to approach him. At the last minute the murderer pulls out a gun to kill him and flees the scene. There isn’t much sign of a struggle, evidence which lends itself nicely to my hypothesis. In fact, I believe our work over here is done!” said Sherlock, and stood up from his crouched position on the floor. The sudden vertical motion, however, made him sway dizzily and stumble back until John dashed forward to support him.

            “Sherlock, are you alright?” asked John, his hand resting on Sherlock’s back, keeping him upright. Gripping John’s arm firmly, Sherlock blinked several times, trying to clear his vision.

            “Fine…” answered Sherlock, “Just…fine…”

            “Lunch now?” suggested John, looking concerned more than annoyed at his friend’s apparent weakness, “Keep this up and you might pass out. As I said before, you’ll work better if take care of yourself…” Sherlock let go of his arm and started towards the aquarium tank in front of them.

            “The person who was peering through the glass…” said Sherlock, leaning so close to the aquarium tank that his breath steamed up the glass, “It was Mrs. Norton! Look here, you can see the spot where she was standing from over here...!” John, growing impatient, seized Sherlock by the wrist. With considerable force, he managed to pull Sherlock along behind him. John burst out of the room just as Lestrade was on his way back to check on them.

           “We’re done here, Lestrade,” said John shortly. Lestrade nearly jumped out of the way as they came through, spilling some of the coffee he was holding.

            “But I need the information!” he yelled after them as they made their way towards the main entrance, Sherlock dragging his heels the entire way.

            “Lestrade, get your hands on the transaction records!” yelled Sherlock, unable to break out of John’s vice-like hold on his wrist.

            “We’ll be back after lunch!” shouted John.

 

Closest to the aquarium was a small restaurant that had just opened for lunch. Still dragging Sherlock along with him, they ducked in out of the rain to find it half-deserted. Sitting his companion down in his seat with a slight shove, John slid into the booth seat across from him. Sherlock stared moodily out the window, looking like a spoiled child. John ordered for his companion, but even after the food was placed before him, Sherlock only picked at it dejectedly despite John’s urging.

            “To see you eat even a bite of that would satisfy me,” said John, “And you do realize I’m saying it for your own good, don’t you?”

            “It’s probably better than that flounder you cooked yesterday,” remarked Sherlock, now frowning at his plate, “But probably not much better.” John chewed a bite quickly and swallowed.

            “How would you know? You didn’t even eat it, even though I took hours to prepare it. There are still some leftovers which I would be happy to share with you this evening.”

            “You mean to say that you spent hours charring it black in the oven? Besides, I thought you were going on a date this evening!” Sherlock said, and then hopefully asked: “Change of plans?”

            “No,” retorted John, “Can we stop talking about this already!?”

            “And who are you going with?” asked Sherlock, trying to appear as if he was only slightly curious. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned towards John, awaiting the answer.

            “Why are you so curious?” asked John, shooting him an odd glance, “It’s really none of your business.” Sherlock sat upright again.

            “You booked a reservation at an upscale French restaurant with a reputation for fine foods and even finer wines. I take it your new love interest has quite refined tastes?”

            “Or maybe I decided that I wanted something a little romantic. You found the number of the restaurant in my phone?”

            “Yes, I did,” admitted Sherlock, “You made a reservation at precisely quarter past five last Saturday.”

            “Oh, so you’ve figured out my new phone password then…” said John, hardly surprised or even upset, “I’ll come up with a cleverer one next time.”

            “Who could it be…?” said Sherlock to himself, “Could it be the boring teacher?” John rolled his eyes.

            “My girlfriends do have names, you realize. That was Stephanie, and no.”

            “And Jeanette dumped you last week,” said Sherlock, “But you didn’t call to apologize to her about that whole…incident.” John groaned.

            “Oh, so glad you’ve stored that in your memory, Sherlock, because that horrific scene will be burned into my retinas for the rest of my remaining years! I come home with Jeanette to find the apartment completely trashed, and you passed out on the floor covered in cat litter with no sign of the cat…so much for looking like a reliable boyfriend. Can’t even look after a sick cat for a few days.”

            “I told you, John, Pretty Paws simply needed a little fresh air so I let her outside for a bit!” exclaimed Sherlock, “Didn’t know that demonic… _thing_ would wander off! As far as the cat’s medicine is concerned, I was simply testing to see the effects it would have on an adult human male!”

            “And then I had to spend my entire evening with you in the ER,” said John, “No, I’ve been instructed that only if and when I find Pretty Paws, she will answer her phone.”

            “Not Jeanette then,” said Sherlock, “So who could it be!?”

“You’re awfully persistent,” said John, “And you’re doing that thing again.”

            “What thing?” he asked.

            “That thing where you press your fingertips together when you’re trying to arrive at some answer related to one of our cases. You’ve been treating this mystery of my date as a private case of yours. You’re altogether too curious.”

            “Then just tell me who it is!” blurted out Sherlock. This earned a few curious stares from some of the other diners. John blinked several times, startled.

            “No, because it doesn’t concern you,” John said finally.

            “It doesn’t?”

            “No, it doesn’t in the least bit concern you!” he said with a note of finality. Sherlock leaned back in his chair, looking slightly depressed at this answer. “I have to be firm in the matter,” explained John, “Now, we do have an actual case to investigate besides that of my date this evening and I’d be appreciative if you filled me in on the details.” Sherlock glared at him, a look of hurt unfamiliar to John was present in his eyes. Without another word, Sherlock stood up and briskly walked towards the door.

            “Sherlock!” yelled John, watching him go. He sighed, throwing his napkin down.

 

            “Have you seen Sherlock, he’s not answering his phone,” John asked, lamely waving his phone in front of Lestrade’s face. Lestrade looked slightly amused.

            “You two have some kind of argument?” asked Lestrade, “He didn’t look like he was ready to reconcile, if that’s the case…”

            “Oh, God…” said John, imagining a darkening storm cloud brewing over his companion’s head. “Tell me where he went.” Lestrade shrugged unhelpfully.

            “He came back to look through some of the aquarium’s paperwork and then quickly took off. Didn’t even say where he was going, just kept muttering to himself,” explained Lestrade. “He’s not giving me much information either so don’t feel too badly.”

            “I’m afraid he’s going to overwork himself…” admitted John, remembering Sherlock’s dizzy stumble earlier in the day.

            “He is looking a bit pale lately,” confessed Lestrade, considering this.  

            “Because he hasn’t eaten a thing since Tuesday,” John said, “Says digestion slows him down when he’s working on a case…Speaking of which, I’m sure he’ll be in touch as soon as he finds what he’s after.” Lestrade simply nodded and thanked John for his cooperative attitude.

            John typed a message into his phone on his way out the door:

 

            Where are you, Sherlock? –JW

 

He sat outside the aquarium on a bench protected from the drizzling rain by the outcropping of the building. He was slowly sipping a coffee awarded him by Lestrade in recompense for his assistance that morning, watching the police moving their equipment out of the building. He stared down at the ground covered in discarded aquarium tickets that had missed the recycling bin. _What on earth could be going through the head of Sherlock Holmes?_ John wondered. Surely Sherlock was in a bitter mood now, but his heart-wrenching violin solo that morning had certainly planted a nagging suspicion in John’s head that there was something eating away at him. And, as John had learned in his time with Sherlock, things could eat away at him for a very long time without him saying a single word about it. Sherlock appeared legitimately upset at his inability to figure out who John’s date was. Although he hadn’t given much thought before now, John recalled an incident earlier in the week which he had found curious.

            He had been fast asleep in bed when he was awakened by the creaking of his bedroom door and the sound of slippers scuffing against the hardwood floor. John was accustomed to these occasional nightly visits from Sherlock when he crept in to inquire about some inane topic in the early hours of the morning. John usually mumbled some incoherent remarks until Sherlock finally shook him fully awake, demanding a proper answer. Twice the question had been if he would get up and purchase a carton of milk since they were running low and another time it had been to ask if a few harmless chemical explosions in the kitchen would awake him, and that should he smell a strange fish-like odor about the house in the morning it was a result of such an experiment. This time, however, was different. Half-asleep, John could sense the presence of someone beside him and opened his eyes. Although the room was dark, he knew Sherlock was lying next to him, peering at him.

            “What is it, Sherlock?” John had mumbled sleepily.

            “How was the date…?” he had asked curiously, the voice closer to his ear than he expected. John’s sleepy brain could only help him form a lame response.

            “Fine, Sherlock…” he said, “Just fine…”

            “No, clearly it wasn’t,” responded Sherlock, “Otherwise you wouldn’t have come back, sat down in the kitchen with a beer and ignored any attempt at conversation.” A slight smile crossed John’s lips.

            “You’re concerned about me then…?” he had asked.

            “Why not stop the dates?” Sherlock had asked, “I can’t have you missing when an important case crops up. Your opinions are invaluable to me.” John did not bother to answer but sleepily reached over and patted Sherlock on the head. After he closed his eyes again and sighed deeply. “I’m serious, John…for the sake of our work…” Something was strange about his tone then, as if there was a lump in his throat.

            “I’ve got to sleep, Sherlock…,” murmured John, “And you should too.” Ever since that event, the subject of dates had always made Sherlock slightly irritated. John had forgotten it until now. Suddenly his phone was vibrating to indicate that the anticipated response from the detective had arrived.

 

            I’m nowhere, John. –SH

 

Yet, it was not the anticipated answer. John raised his eyebrows at the message on the screen. He realized that he had put himself in a bad position that would take more than one apology to fix. John hastily typed a response, fumbling with his phone:

 

If you must know, the date is with Mary. The one with the glasses. Happy? Now tell me where you are so I can come help you. –JW

 

The response took nearly ten minutes to arrive and John had already finished his coffee and tossed the styrofoam cup into the disposal by the time the next one came.

 

            Lies. She’s in Portugal with her new boyfriend. –SH

 

John stared at it for several minutes without knowing how to respond. Clearly Sherlock had been paying closer attention to John’s various girlfriends lately. John had noticed a few days earlier that Sherlock had abandoned one of his chemical experiments midway and never bothered to finish it when John had announced that he was leaving to go on a date. It was highly unusual for so meticulous a man. John finally resigned himself to reconciling with Sherlock when he received another message:

 

            Fish were smuggled. Come to Cobblestone Inn immediately. –SH

 

John found the first part of the message a bit puzzling, but having been called, and being faithfully dedicated to his duty, John got up quickly and went to grab the next cab, feeling relieved.

 

It was nearly three thirty when he arrived at the address Sherlock had forwarded him. The address had brought him to a large white manor house with a bed and breakfast sign bearing the words “Cobblestone Inn” hanging on a metal post outside the door. John walked up the wide front steps and rapped at the door several times using the large brass door knocker. No one answered for some time and John was about to turn and leave when the door swung open ajar, stopped from opening fully by the chain lock inside.

            “Uh, hello,” said John, peering into the darkened hallway inside, “I’m looking for Sherlock Holmes. He asked me to come here.” He could see a young woman standing just behind the door, but he could not distinguish her features. Without a word she unbolted the door and hurried him inside, afterword locking it hastily.

            “He told me you were coming,” she said, “Follow me.” John, with a sinking suspicion that something was wrong, cautiously trailed along behind her into a parlor room. The woman who could not have been older than thirty-five, was well-tanned and although slim appeared fairly strong. Her hair was disheveled, tied back only loosely, and her whole manner suggested uneasiness and not the disposition she might show to guests. She gestured for John to sit on the floral-patterned sofa across from her. John looked about curiously.

            “Is he here?” John asked. The woman shook her head.

            “No, but he contacted me to tell me you’d be coming over,” she said, “I’ve been instructed to give you information.” John let out a sigh.

            “Should have seen that coming. Information, you said?” asked John, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

            “I’m Elizabeth Norton,” she said, “Percy Norton’s wife.” John’s eyes widened.

            “Oh, I…” said John, fumbling to form a response in his surprise.

            “Please listen carefully, because I can only tell it once,” she explained, hastening on, “I was at the aquarium last evening.” John remembered Sherlock’s explanation of the fingerprints on the glass of the tank near the dying fish, and with only a quick glance, noticed that her fingers fit the description Sherlock had provided, save for any kind of wedding ring. She was wringing her hands nervously.

            “Yes, please tell me what you saw yesterday evening,” said John calmly, “Can you tell me anything about your time there?”

            “ “My fiancé…was killed last evening,” she responded, her voice shaky.

            “Fiance?” questioned John, “I…thought you were married?”

            “On paper, yes,” responded Elizabeth, struggling outwardly to form the words she was speaking, “But…it was Albert I loved…”

            “Albert…Cunningham?” asked John, the situation slowly dawning on him. Elizabeth nodded, looking pained.

            “Yes, my husband’s assistant. He was one of the finest fishermen around and my husband decided we should include him in our business. We spent a lot of time together, the three of us. Grew so close…I never meant to hurt Percy…” she paused briefly to try and calm her nerves, “Albert planned to marry me, after we finished the job…” John suddenly remembered the puzzling message Sherlock had sent to him earlier.

            “When you say job…do you mean smuggling?” he asked, trying to be as tactful has humanly possible. Elizabeth suddenly burst out in tears, leaving John to fidget helplessly in his seat on the sofa, cursing at himself for being so direct in the matter.

            “It was just one time,” she said through sobs, “Just once. We were going to split the money between the three of us…but Albert suggested…”

            “Splitting the money between the two of you…” finished John. The grim reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. “Your husband, he found out…” said John, now staring down at the scarlet carpet beneath his feet to avoid looking at the sobbing woman across from him. She only nodded and wiped back tears with the back of her sleeve.

            “I couldn’t go to the police…” she said, beginning to calm down, “So I came out here to hide at my friend’s inn…I…I didn’t want to smuggle anything. I was against it the whole time…but Albert insisted…”

            “I understand,” answered John, “I’m sorry for your loss.” She nodded, grateful to be acknowledged. Despite her agitated state, she was trying very hard to manage under the pressure. John sighed and typed a message to Sherlock:

 

            Have information. Where are you? –JW

 

            “Have you ever been in love before…?” asked Elizabeth, looking further for some connection that would allow her to talk. John blinked several times in surprise at this sudden question.

            “Love?” said John, with a nervous laugh, “I’m not sure how to answer that…” John was able to avoid answering further because his phone signaled that he had received another text.

 

            Ask about the engagement ring. –SH

 

            “Engagement ring?” said John, puzzling over the message. Elizabeth nodded.

            “Yes…” she said, “It slipped off my finger when we were introducing the fish into the tank…Albert accidentally bought the wrong size…I was hoping you and Mr. Holmes might help me get it back.”

            “From the fish tank!?” exclaimed John, remembering the massive volume of water with sharks lurking silently in its depths.

            “Please,” she said urgently, “It’s the one thing I would like most now, for comfort…please.” John nodded silently.

            “We’ll see what we can do…”

 

After thanking Elizabeth for her information and expressing his deepest sympathies for her loss, John left the inn and headed for the main road where he might catch another cab. It was raining steadily now, and without a raincoat or umbrella John’s jacket was becoming thoroughly soaked as he stood on the street corner. He stood, holding up his hand to signal a cab. It was just then that someone walked clear into him, knocking him sideways rather roughly. They had pushed an umbrella into John’s hand and continued silently on their way.

            “Hey, you-!” started John, observing the umbrella in his hand and then looking up to see a tall figure in a long trench coat walking very purposefully towards some unknown destination down the otherwise abandoned street. He recognized the tall, slim figure in an instant and followed after him, finally catching up and following in stride. “Sherlock, you could talk to me, you know…” said John. Sherlock glanced down at him from over his upturned collar. “I got a lot of information for you just now.”

            “Brianna?” asked Sherlock, continuing his guessing game.

            “No, she dumped me ages ago,” said John. “But I will have you know that Elizabeth Norton and I just had a very interesting chat, and-!”

            “Fancy her now, do you?” said Sherlock. John stopped walking, letting Sherlock proceed ahead without him for a few paces. Sherlock turned to see what had happened and with a characteristically military turn, John started back the other way. “John!” exclaimed Sherlock, darting towards him. He grabbed onto John’s arm, stumbling into him. “I…I didn’t mean it…”

            “Let’s hope that you didn’t…” John answered stiffly as Sherlock stood upright again. Sherlock grabbed the umbrella with his free hand and opened it, holding it above the both of them as they walked along.

            “Would you like me to explain the situation?” asked Sherlock.

            “I wish you would,” said John.

            “It was a trifle of a case,” began Sherlock, “As soon as I saw Albert Cunningham’s body I knew that Mrs. Norton was having an affair with him.” John turned to look at his companion in surprise.

            “But how!?” he exclaimed.

            “A crime of passion,” said Sherlock, “He was shot through the chest, or, the heart more specifically, by Mr. Norton. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

            “But what about the fish? You said it was instrumental in the case,” pointed out John.

            “Smuggled fish, John. It had clearly been transported and under the stress of it, its health declined rapidly. The aquarium keeps records of transactions and those fish are not documented anywhere save for a special folder kept in a locked cabinet with the contact address of Norton’s fishing company.” John thought about this for a moment.

            “Then how are we going to find Mr. Norton?” he asked.

            “We’re not going to find him, he’s going to find us,” explained Sherlock, “He’ll come to the aquarium tonight to retrieve something he lost.”

            “The fish?” asked John.

            “No!” said Sherlock, astounded by John’s ignorance, “His wife!” John paled at this realization.

            “You mean…?”

            “While you were chatting with Lestrade and puzzling over my whereabouts, I found out where Mr. Norton’s hiding within only a few hours thanks to the Homeless Network. I found Elizabeth almost as easily and had her write a note to Mr. Norton about meeting at the aquarium, to talk the whole situation over. Besides, we need to get back her ring, as much as I loathe the task.” John shook his head.

            “But he’ll be angry…!” protested John, “Why should we have sent for him!?”

            “No matter, John, we’ll just be there to grab the ring and contact Lestrade to tell him we’ve found his man. We’ll grab a gun before then, though.” They walked a bit further while John took time to process this information.

            “By the way, Sherlock…” John started to say.

            “Hmm?”

            “You haven’t let go of my arm this whole time,” John said, finishing his sentence. Sherlock looked down to see that this was indeed true.

            “Wanted to make sure you didn’t get angry and leave, John. Besides, I need support,” he explained, without shifting his position.

            “Literally, you mean that literally…you’re really leaning on me!” said John.

            “Experienced a bit of a dizzy spell earlier, alright now though,” explained Sherlock, now trying to slip his arm away. John grabbed onto it firmly to prevent him from doing so.  

            “Ready to grab a bit to eat, then?” asked John, trying to coax him into agreeing.

            “No, still need to think, John. After the case is over,” responded Sherlock.

            “You promise me, Sherlock? Please promise me!” said John.

            “If it will make you happy. Now let’s stop off at the flat to grab some supplies…”

 

It was half past twelve and the aquarium was dark save for the illuminated tanks installed within. It was strangely silent, walking through the building while sea creatures calmly glided through the water in their respective environments. John followed closely after Sherlock who was approaching the tank the engagement ring had dropped into.

            “Do you see it, Sherlock?” asked John, whispering. Sherlock pressed his hands against the glass and looked in. Without any luck he backed away and pulled a flashlight out of his coat pocket. He pressed the on button and shone the light into the tank, searching along the sandy bottom. The flashlight’s beam finally caught sight of something that gleamed and Sherlock whispered back to John.

            “It’s there, John, do you see it?” John watched the gold ring glitter and realized the lost jewelry had been there all along, half-hidden among the sand.

            “I see it…” responded John, “But how do we…?”

            “Shh!” said Sherlock suddenly, pressing a finger to his lips.

            “But what-!”

            “Shh!” said Sherlock again, this time more urgently. He reached out and took a hold of John’s wrist, leading him backwards so that they were no longer illuminated by the light of the tank. John listened carefully, at first hearing nothing and then noticing the sound of footsteps from somewhere close by. They stood with baited breath, looking in the direction of the sound, expecting Mr. Norton to return to the scene of the crime as anticipated. John was absolutely still until someone stepped into the area illuminated by the aquarium tank. The sudden appearance, as if an apparition had spontaneously become visible, spooked John so that he let out a sudden cry of surprise. Standing near the tank was none other than Mrs. Norton, looking exceedingly pale. Sherlock gripped John’s arm to warn him, but he himself was surprised at their visitor. She quickly made her way towards them, following the sound of John’s voice.

            “I’ve come to meet with him,” she whispered, “I didn’t feel that I had any other choice…” John shook his head.  
            “No, this isn’t right. Your husband will likely be quite angry, so you should leave!” She shook her head vigorously.

            “I only wish to speak with him,” she responded firmly, “Nothing else.” John could feel his heart picking up pace.

            “You need to get out of here before he shows up! You’re putting yourself in danger by-!”

            “You’ve been followed…!” Sherlock whispered urgently, his ears picking up on the sound of a heavier footfall rounding the corner. The three of them stood there for a moment, hearts pounding, straining their ears and holding their breath. “Get down!” shouted Sherlock suddenly, and as a bullet ripped past them, Sherlock pushed both of them to the floor and out of the way. In a flash, Sherlock sprang back up with gun pointed near the location of the assailant. “Mr. Norton!” yelled Sherlock, “Put down your gun!” There was a long silence in which Sherlock grew increasingly alarmed. “Mrs. Norton has not called you here…I have! I know of your crimes. You have nothing to hide from me…!” Suspicious, he stepped out away from them and looked every which way, trying to determine the location of the man. “John…” he said, “Get Mrs. Norton out of here.”

            “Sherlock, I can’t leave you…!” said John, beginning to panic. Just then Mrs. Norton pushed away John’s supporting arm and stood by Sherlock.

            “I’m here, Percy!” she shouted into the darkness, “I know how you killed Albert! You know I was there…you have to listen to me!” Sherlock warned her to stop talking but her uncontrollable anger was seeping through her voice. “None of it was my idea, Percy. I never wanted to double-cross you!” Suddenly a figure stepped out of the shadows, his face half-lit by the light of the tank. Gun in hand, he was aiming towards both Mrs. Norton and Sherlock, teeth gritted in anger.

            “Elizabeth…” he hissed, then turning to look at Sherlock. “Who are you!?”

            “Sherlock Holmes,” he answered, “Consulting detective, set out to catch a murderer but the puzzle you left me was far too simple! Now we’ve hooked you, and reeling you in is no problem at all. The police know all about you, Percy Norton. They know about your failing fishing business, your attempt to make a large sum of money selling illegally caught fish. Then you found out about your wife’s affair with Mr. Cunningham. Always were a bit jealous of him, weren’t you? But you didn’t say a single word until you learned about the plan they had formed. Acting as if you were only concerned and wanted to talk the situation out…you walked up to him and shot him through the heart! Isn’t that right, Mr. Norton!?” It was just then that Mr. Norton let a bullet fly and John, having snuck around the tank had managed to grab ahold of the man just as the bullet left the barrel. John, grappled with the burly fisherman and pinning him to the floor, managed to disarm him and throw the gun towards Sherlock.

            “Sherlock!” yelled John, worried. Rapid footsteps sounded and Sherlock came rushing forward, unharmed by the bullet. Reassured that his friend was alright, John unleashed his rage onto Percy Norton until the man lay bloodied and groaning.

            “John…” said Sherlock, holding out a hand. John, panting, grabbed onto Sherlock’s hand and was lifted to his feet.

            “Dammit, if that bullet had been any closer…” cursed John, hand curled into a fist.

            “I’m fine, John,” said Sherlock, with a slight smile. “Thanks.”

            “We’d better phone Lestrade,” said John, starting to calm down. He looked past Sherlock to see Elizabeth Norton looking down at her husband, an unreadable expression on her face.

            “I never meant for any of this to happen…” she said, looking down at him.

            “Mrs. Norton, we shall now retrieve your ring and our task will be complete,” said Sherlock.  

             

 

Having returned the ring, Elizabeth Norton placed it back on her finger and gazed at his sadly, remembering the tragic turn her life had taken She then resigned herself to police questioning when she witnessed her husband being handcuffed and led away. Sherlock and John sat side by side on a cushioned bench in the middle of the aquarium, gazing at a large, deep blue tank teeming with life. Fish swam contentedly, flitting in and out of the swaying plantlife. John sighed deeply, feeling his nerves relax.

            “At least we were able to get the ring back…but Lestrade got to take all the credit, though,” remarked John. “What’s left for us?” Suddenly, he felt a warm weight pressed comfortably against him, and John glanced down to realize that Sherlock was leaning on his chest. The top of Sherlock’s head was positioned just under his chin. Several minutes passed in silence.

            “Feeling alright…?” asked John gently.

            “Dizzy,” mumbled Sherlock, his eyes closed. John placed a hand lightly on his companion’s back. A few minutes passed, only inhabited by the two of them. Around them was activity, motion, as police hurriedly worked to catch all the important details, to see all the evidence in the case. John and Sherlock, however, were caught up in a separate moment and space, appealing only to each other amid the sea of chaos. “Your date…why didn’t you tell me…?” asked Sherlock, dejectedly. John swallowed nervously.

            “Tell you what?” he asked, braving the question.

            “That _I_ was your date…?” John did not respond for a long moment, wondering how to articulate a response.

            “How…long have you known that?” asked John cautiously, realizing that the lies he had spun to cover his tracks had already been decoded.

            “Since the beginning,” admitted Sherlock, quietly, “It was all too obvious, John. The most revealing piece of evidence being the search query ‘how do I tell my roommate I love him?’, but the French restaurant I said I wanted to go to back in April was also a fairly obvious clue. But you kept lying, John…” Again John paused before he could respond.

            “I thought…you might reject me…” said John gently, “That our whole relationship might crumble if I asked…” Sherlock picked himself up and sat upright. John turned to find Sherlock’s face only a few inches from his own.

            “John…”

            “Sherlock, I…” said John, desperately trying to come up with the right words. He wanted to say words that might console him, words that might express that deep regret he felt for making Sherlock feel as miserable as he had. John reached out and gingerly placed a hand on his companion’s arm. No, that was not enough. There needed to be something more. Without thinking further, as if his body moved without heeding any command, John tilted his head slightly and slowly closed the distance between them. He pressed his lips against Sherlock’s, gently at first, finding them soft. He pulled away only slightly before kissing him again, this time more firmly, and he felt Sherlock respond to his affection until any hesitancy had dissipated and the kisses grew increasingly more passionate. John felt Sherlock run his hand through his hair and mumble something unintelligible while John’s hand felt itself pressed firmly onto Sherlock’s chest. When they finally paused, faces flushed, John quietly asked him what he had said.

            “I’ll…always be with you, John,” Sherlock had said in that low voice of his, their lips still lingering so close that they were nearly touching.

            “No more dates, Sherlock…no more unless they’re with you,” said John, feeling a great weight lift from his heart at that moment, realizing that his fears had disappeared entirely.

            “Tomorrow night then…? You’d better reschedule those reservations…” Sherlock said. John smiled gently.

            “Of course,” he responded. John was about to kiss him again when Sherlock suddenly turned his face so that John’s lips brushed against Sherlock’s cheek. Following his line of vision, John turned as well to see Lestrade paused in front of them with mouth agape.

            “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, detective inspector,” said Sherlock, slightly annoyed.

            “I…w-well…” said Lestrade, fumbling for words, “I hoped to pull you in for questioning tonight and-!”

            “We’re busy tonight!” snapped Sherlock, then turning back to John whispered: “Very busy…” Lestrade, dumbfounded, could only offer a lame response.

            “T-tomorrow then…” he said, awkwardly making his exit and leaving the lovers in peace.

            “Leftover fish tonight?” asked John, gazing at Sherlock.

            “Of course, I’m starving.”


End file.
